


bloody and bruised (but still here)

by murphysvictim (feelingisfirst)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Spoilers, Thirteen - Freeform, although this fic features a lesbian, and i don't even watch medical dramas so, and i dont mean "lesbians", basically it's 5 am and i've been crying and maybe now i can finally go to sleep, because murphy kind of saves the day, but also the fix-it fic for thirteen that no one wants, but mostly a bisexual and a sassmaster taking care of the lesbian, cause everything i know about medicine i learned from tv, clarphy are bros because i am the biGGEST SUCKER FOR THAT, doctor!clarke, featuring the big l word from clarke griffin, flangst, lexa doesn't die, no character death here no ma'am, octavia and murphy become bros because i am a sucker for that shit, some real creative medical stuff, spoilers for thirteen, the fix-it fic for thirteen that everyone wants, titus is a dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 16:38:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6159868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feelingisfirst/pseuds/murphysvictim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Clarke,” he hisses. “You’re a doctor.” </p><p>Or: the fix-it fic that literally nobody asked for in which Murphy helps save the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bloody and bruised (but still here)

When Clarke finally pulls the gag from Murphy’s mouth, the first words he grinds out are, “You’re a _fucking doctor_.” 

Clarke’s shaking, and Murphy doesn’t know how her eyes can be so full while she’s still not crying. She’s looking over her shoulder back at Lexa even as she’s untying his hands, and, most importantly, she’s not listening to Murphy.

As soon as he gets one hand free, he claps it down onto Clarke’s shoulder. She jerks back towards him, eyes wild.

“Clarke,” he hisses. “You’re a _doctor._ ”

She frowns with her brows furrowed for a beat, but then her eyes widen, and she nods. Clarke stands up and rushes back to Lexa’s side, slapping Titus’ hands away to press the rag down on Lexa’s wound herself. “Get him out of here,” she growls, and both Titus and Murphy move towards each other at her command.

Murphy has the upper hand, though; he was anticipating this particular order before it came. He has Titus halfway out of the room before Titus realizes that Clarke’s words were not meant for him. Murphy shoulders Titus past the threshold, silent through his loud complaints until he gets him on the landing. “I’ll let you know if she dies because of you,” Murphy growls before he slams the door in Titus’ face and rushes back to Clarke’s side.

“We need to get her up,” Clarke murmurs to him, and Murphy’s moving up by Lexa’s shoulders before she can finish the sentence.

He puts one hand on her far shoulder and wraps the other arm under her neck. Murphy gently lifts her as Clarke slips an arm between Lexa and Murphy’s bodies to maintain the pressure on Lexa’s stomach while checking the wound on her back.

“Clarke, I-“ Lexa starts, choking as the blood bubbles up through her throat.

“Hush, Lexa,” Clarke commands in a voice that allows no disobedience.

Lexa falls silent, gritting her teeth through the pain as Murphy finally gets her upright. He supports her body weight and her limp head against his chest, half leaning over the bed.

“Clean through,” Clarke informs Murphy, as though it means anything to him, but he nods when she looks at him. He’s perceptive enough to know she’s leaning on him as heavily as Lexa is right now. “That’s good, Lexa,” Clarke says louder, “that means we don’t have to deal with getting the bullet out.” She tugs Murphy’s hand off of Lexa’s far shoulder and presses it against the rag on her chest. “Press harder than you think you need to,” she tells him, and Murphy is relieved to see that Clarke is steely when he looks into her eyes. She pulls another rag from the bundle that Titus brought and presses this one against the wound in Lexa’s back. “Help me lay her back down,” Clarke says as she reaches a hand up to brace Lexa’s head. She and Murphy move in tandem to settle Lexa back on Clarke’s bed, and the rag against her back is now firmly wedged in place.

“Clarke, plea-“ Lexa starts.

This time Murphy’s the one shushing her as Clarke steps away and begins to frantically dig through one of her bags. “Don’t talk,” he tells Lexa as she shakes under the pressure of his hands. “Just survive.”

Lexa listens, and Clarke returns quickly with a knife. She hands it to him wordlessly as she wiggles her hand underneath his on the rag, and Murphy is holding the knife in the flame of a candle faster than he would have thought possible. “Listen to me, Le- listen to me!” Murphy hears Clarke murmur from across the room, and he turns his back to try and give them a little semblance of privacy.

“Clarke?”

“You’re in shock, Lexa. You’re losing blood fast, and you’re not fighting it. _I need you to fight it._ ”

“I _am_ fighting, Clarke!”

Murphy almost laughs at the petulance and irritation in the Commander’s voice.

“Well then _fight harder,_ Heda. My friend’s getting a blade hot so we can cauterize your wound, and then you’re gonna be just fine. It hit an artery, that’s all, so we just need to stop the bleeding and then maybe do a transfusion, and then you’ll be as good as new, you hear me?”

“Clarke, if it’s time for my spirit to move on…”

“Lexa, will you _stop talking about dying?_ You’re _not dying!_ ”

“I need to tell you, Clarke.”

There’s a long pause. Murphy fears the worst, but before he can turn, Clarke responds, voice husky.

“I know, Lexa. I love you, too.”

There’s a noise that Murphy can just barely identify as a laugh through the wheezing and the blood choking Lexa’s throat. “You didn’t let me say it!”

“You don’t have to yet. There'll be plenty of time for that,” Clarke answers. “Murphy?” She calls to him, and when he looks over his shoulder, the tears are freely running down Clarke’s face. “It should be ready.”

He brings the knife over to her, and she reaches out for it, but he shakes his head. “I’ll do it,” he tells her, and Clarke almost smiles at him with one of Lexa’s hands grasped tightly in her own.

She removes the rag with a pointed look to Murphy as she presses her bloody hand against Lexa’s face. “Okay, Lexa, look at me,” Clarke says, turning back to the Commander. “On the count of three. O-"

Murphy presses the knife down.

Lexa lets out a hoarse yell as Clarke murmurs soothing words that Murphy can’t hear over the Commander’s screams.

Murphy counts to two and then pulls the knife back, already heading back to the candle before he’s even fully separated the blade from Lexa’s flesh.

“Good job, Lexa, you did so good. It’s done,” Clarke is murmuring, her free hand tangled in Lexa’s hair as her thumb rubs black smears across Lexa’s cheek bone.

Murphy’s watching unabashedly this time, only glancing at the knife to make sure he notices as soon as it turns white hot. He’s amazed at the openness on Clarke’s face and the way Lexa keeps her eyes trained on Clarke even as she struggles to keep them open.

“Only one more,” Clarke breathes, but Lexa’s sobbing now, well and truly shaking and grasping for air in a way that makes Murphy pant. “I know, Lexa, I know,” Clarke’s saying, “but you’re doing so good, you’re almost done – Murphy!”

Murphy crosses back to her, sticking the handle of the knife into his teeth so he can help Clarke lift Lexa up again. Clarke props Lexa’s head against her shoulder and her body weight against Clarke’s chest the way she had leaned against Murphy only moments before. “On the count of three,” Clarke says, again catching Murphy’s eyes as he pulls the knife from his mouth and crawls up onto the bed behind Lexa.

“Really to three this time!” Lexa barks, louder and with more authority than Murphy would have thought possible.

“One,” Clarke murmurs, one hand in Lexa’s hair and the other splayed low across her back, “two, three.”

When Murphy presses the blade down Lexa yells again, louder than the first time. He watches the way Clarke’s eyes squeeze shut as he counts to two before pulling the knife away.

“Good job, good girl,” Clarke is murmuring, peppering kisses to Lexa’s temple and hair as she rubs frantic circles on her back that Murphy thinks are more for Clarke than for Lexa. “Thank you,” she mouths to Murphy, and his eyebrows draw as he smiles, both touched and surprised. “Okay, Lexa,” Clarke says, “we’re going to lay you on your side so we don’t irritate your wounds.”

Murphy reaches forward to help turn her and lay her down, a process that involves a lot of cries from Lexa and a lot of secondhand agony for Clarke, but eventually it's over.

“Send a rider for Arkadia. We’re going to need my mother and the supplies for a blood transfusion as quickly as possible,” Clarke orders Murphy, and then draws the blankets up around Lexa as she crawls into bed beside her. She’s murmuring about shock and the cold to Lexa as Murphy heads out the door, walking past Titus without so much as a glance.

“Where are you going? Is Heda-“ Titus says, forced to jog a few steps after Murphy to keep up.

“I don’t know. We need someone to go to Camp Jaha.”

It’s Octavia who goes in the end, and she’s back with Abby and medical supplies in the rover by the next dawn. Murphy jogs with them back up to Lexa’s throne room and is left to wait outside with Octavia. It’s incredibly uncomfortable for the first half hour, but by hour two Murphy feels like he and Octavia have almost become friends and that’s somehow not the strangest thing that has happened to him in the last 24 hours.

Abby leaves after hour three with only a reassuring smile to Octavia and Murphy. Clarke comes out asking for Octavia around hour four, and they don’t come back out for fifteen minutes. Octavia bumps Murphy with her foot and the ghost of a smile as she heads down the stairs, and Clarke stares after her.

“What was that?” She asks Murphy as she leans back against the double doors, covered in Lexa’s blood and visibly exhausted.

“We made friends, actually,” Murphy tells her, climbing back to his feet with the popping of a few joints.

“You’re kidding,” Clarke says, finding the energy to look genuinely shocked.

“That _is_ a joke I would make, isn’t it?” Murphy admits, pushing his hands down into his pockets. They stand in companionable silence for a while, Murphy too afraid to ask questions, before Clarke speaks up again.

“Do you have any wounds I ought to look at?”

“Is that a special offer just because I’m your friend?” He asks with a smirk.

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Yeah, you must have been joking about Octavia. I take it you’re good then.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Murphy tells her. There’s a long silence before he speaks up, looking at the ground. “And the Commander?”

“Is going to be fine. She’s asleep right now,” she says, and when Murphy looks up to meet Clarke’s eyes she’s beaming.

Murphy finds himself grinning back at her before he can catch himself, so he reaches up to rub at the back of his nose to hide it.

“Thank you. For in there,” Clarke says genuinely, and Murphy knows he’s brought the coming, inevitably stupid conversation upon himself.

“It was nothing,” he tries, “I’ve always enjoyed setting things on fire.”

“That was bad, even for you,” Clarke informs him without a hint of humor, and he smiles again despite himself. “You know what I mean. I…”

“You love her,” Murphy finishes for her. “I get it. I mean, I don’t have a lot of experience with human emotions, but I do understand them in theory.”

It’s Clarke’s turn to smile this time. “Is it obvious?”

“Your whole room reeked of sex, and you don’t seem the type to fuck without commitment,” Murphy tries again, ever persistent.

Clarke narrows her eyes, and Murphy pointedly avoids them. Things are getting way too emotional for his taste but the only way he sees out of this conversation is straight through it. “Nah, I heard you tell her. But yeah, it’s obvious.”

Clarke’s still smiling, but there’s something softer about it now. “It’s good to have you back, Murphy.”

“It’s good to be back, Clarke,” he tells her. "You won't believe the shit Jaha's been up to."

She chuckles low in her throat. "You'd be surprised," she says, already turning to go back into her room.

Murphy almost feels good for a second, standing there at the top of skyscraper, bloody and bruised.

**Author's Note:**

> am sad.
> 
> revised 7/7/16.


End file.
